Aftermath
by Phoenix Moon 13
Summary: Post The Gift. Grief can bring people together as easily as it can divide them.
1. Reduced To This

_**Aftermath  
><strong>_**Chapter One: Reduced To This**

Author's Note: This story was originally four one-shots, but I had grouped them under the title "The Aftermath Series". But I decided to group them under one title to make it easier to read them all in one place.

The poem Giles reads is _Funeral Blues_ by W.H. Auden.

* * *

><p>"… The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;<br>Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
>Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,<br>For nothing now can ever come to any good."

Giles's voice was a low rasp, jumping up shrilly every now and again. Dawn watched him stare at the paper for a moment, as though trying to find something else to say. She wondered vaguely whether anyone else heard the chilling prophecy in that poem. Of course, she knew it right from the beginning. From the moment she saw in her sister's eyes what she was going to do; Dawn knew that nothing would ever come to any good ever, _ever_ again.

She felt Tara move, pull Willow closer. But she didn't look. Dawn hadn't taken her eyes off the grave since they got here and she didn't intend to until the grave was filled in. Until her sister was gone.

She saw Giles sigh, tuck the paper away and reach for the shovel, quickly followed by Xander and Wesley. Her eyes blurred with tears and she blinked them away quickly. Strong. _Strong, strong, strong_. That's what she had to be. It's what Buffy would have wanted.

The metallic scrape of the shovels through the pile of earth, the hollow scattering sound of the earth hitting the wooden coffin made her shudder as it echoed through the chilly early evening air.

She felt Tara's hand tighten on her arm to steer her away, but she refused to move.

"Dawnie," she heard Tara whisper, but she ignored her.

She heard Willow's teary attempt, but ignored that too. She pulled away from Tara and walked toward the foot of the grave.

"Wait," she called weakly, extending her hand. She forced herself to open the fist that clutched the single white rose. She stared at it for a second, then at the tiny scratches the thorns had made in her palm. Then with a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into the grave.

She watched it fly through the air and drop like a stone onto the coffin. Tara came up behind her, taking her hand.

"I'm staying," Dawn whispered, as the sun set and sky exploded into a sunset so beautiful, it made her want to cry.

* * *

><p>The Summers' house was cold and dark when Willow opened the door and ushered everyone inside, before running around, turning on lights and lighting candles. Dawn sank onto the couch with Anya. Wesley and Cordelia hovered until Tara smiled and indicated the couch. Willow lit the final candle on the mantelpiece and dithered for a second before Tara guided her to a chair. Giles remained standing, hands in his pockets.<p>

"It was only four feet," Xander muttered. Then he glanced up at Giles and continued. "Only four feet, Giles. It should have been six. We should have tried harder. It wasn't enough. We should've tried _harder_, Giles," his voice grew shrill as he followed Giles across the living room. "It wasn't enough. We should've done the six. We should've tried harder and done the six! We should -"

"It's too late!" Giles thundered, spinning round and fisting his hands into Xander's jacket, almost yanking him off his feet. "Do you hear me? It's too late! It wasn't enough! It's over! She's _gone_!" his voice faltered and he lowered Xander, hands relaxing their grip slightly, as though this fact had suddenly registered with him. "She's gone."

Xander stared at Giles, his eyes steadily filling with tears as he shook his head slowly.

"No," he whispered.

His head dropped and Giles pulled him close. The others watched from their seats, staring in numb, shocked silence as the two men sobbed against each other.

Cordelia gulped hard and snaked her arm through Wesley's. He looked up slowly from where he had been staring at his lap in an attempt to avoid the scene in front of him. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"We should go," she hissed through gritted teeth. "_Now_."

He opened his mouth to answer when he glanced at Giles and Xander. They had stopped crying, but were still clinging together. He closed his mouth and nodded, standing up slowly.

"I'm afraid we ought to be getting back," he said in a low voice to Willow.

"You're going?" she said. "You don't have to. You could stay again. I know the couch isn't very comfortable, but you don't have to go."

"Really, we need to get back to the office," Cordy said.

Willow nodded and stood up, embracing Cordy, then Wesley. Cordy bent down in front of Dawn and placed her hands on her knees.

"We're gonna go now, ok, sweetie?" she said gently.

Dawn nodded and Cordy gave her a quick, awkward hug. Wesley hesitated before reaching down to squeeze Dawn's shoulders.

"You'll be all right," he said bracingly. "You're strong."

Dawn gulped and shrugged and Wesley allowed Cordy to drag him out the door and down to the car. She practically ran down the driveway, with Wes stumbling after her.

"Cordelia!"

She came to a halt, leaning against the car, breathing hard.

"God, I had to get outta there," she murmured. "I couldn't bear it."

"I know," he agreed. "It was awful."

"Angel should have been there," Cordy said firmly. "He should have _been _there."

"He'll be here, Cordy. You can be sure of that."

"I'm not sure of anything anymore, Wes," she whispered, turning to him. "I know she was the Slayer and I know we didn't always get on. But she was Buffy. I just never thought she… I never thought _this _would happen."

"I doubt anybody thought it would," he sighed, then, seeing her sniffling, he reached for her. "Come here."

She hugged him tightly, face buried tightly in his neck. He rubbed her back and kissed her hair before she took a deep breath, regained her composure and stepped back.

"We should get back," she said. "We need to check on Angel."

They climbed into the car and drove in silence. It wasn't until they reached Main Street that Wesley broke the silence.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said, indicating a familiar black car up ahead that turned in the direction of the cemetery.

* * *

><p>Willow closed the door on Giles a little while later and glanced back into the living room at Xander and Anya. Dawn was curled in a chair across from them, eyes wide and unblinking. Willow's hands shook violently as she attempted to bolt the door, with a gentle hush; Tara placed her hands gently over Willow's and pulled them away from the door.<p>

Willow sagged with a tiny sob and Tara tightened her grip with one hand while the other tucked a strand of hair behind Willow's ear.

"Come on," she whispered. "I'll take you bed."

Willow didn't argue and Tara guided her to the stairs where Willow froze and shook her head.

"No, I'll stay with Dawnie," she said.

"You need to sleep, Willow."

"No," Willow shook her head again and pulled her hands out of Tara's.

"Sweetie, you have to sleep," Tara said gently.

"I can't," Willow choked out, clutching suddenly at Tara's shirt. "I can't go to sleep, Tara. I _can't_ sleep. And when I do, all I can see…" Willow swallowed hard, "is her. I see her jumping, I see her hanging there, with all this energy tearing at her, I see her hitting the ground. I hear that crunch, that revolting, wet _crunch_. And then all I can see is her lying there. It wasn't Buffy anymore, Tara. It was just a body. She was my best friend, I loved her so much and she just wasn't _there_ anymore."

Tara gulped hard, trying to force down the tears that her girlfriend's tearful speech brought to her throat. She reached out and grabbed hold of Willow, pulling her tightly into her arms and buried her face in Willow's neck. It was as much an attempt to comfort Willow as to hold herself up.

When she pulled away from Willow, she kissed her gently on the lips and smoothed her tears away with her thumbs.

"I'll take you to bed, sweetie," she said gently, pressing her toward the stairs. "And I'll make you some lavender tea, all right?"

"What about Xander and Anya?" Willow sniffled.

"I'll take care of them and Dawn. Just like I'm going to take care of you. Go on," she let go of Willow's hand and Willow slowly climbed the stairs.

Tara went back into the living room and Xander looked up.

"Willow went to bed," Tara told him.

"Can you stay here tonight?" Dawn whispered suddenly, sitting up and looking at Xander and Anya. "All of you?"

"Whatever you want," Anya replied gently, with surprising tenderness as she reached across and patted Dawn's hand.

* * *

><p>It was late by the time Tara had made up the couch for Xander and Anya. It had taken a while for Xander to get the hint that he needed to go to sleep and it had taken longer to convince Dawn to go to bed.<p>

Dawn heard the distant creak of her mother's bed, where Tara and Willow where spending the night. Then she heard the faint click of the lamp by the bed and knew that Tara had turned out the light and was at that moment spooning herself around Willow.

Dawn shivered. There was no one to spoon themselves around her, no one to tell her it was all right. No one she would believe anyway.

Her room was stiflingly warm and she slid out of bed to open to the door. She could hear blurred voices floating up the stairs and froze when she realized it was Anya comforting a crying Xander. She shut the door quickly and leaned against it, breathing hard. Of course she had seen Xander cry, she had seen it that evening as he sobbed into Giles's jacket.

Dawn's world had turned on its head. All these people that she thought were so tough, such a strong unit, were crumbling around her. Dissolving slowly into tears and it was all Dawn's fault.

They never said it, of course they didn't. But she knew. She could see it in the way they turned their gaze away whenever she looked at them for longer than a few seconds. They were trying so hard not to hate her for this.

At times, that made her love them even more and at other times, it made her hate them because she deserved their loathing. She killed her sister; she was responsible for almost ending the world.

All of that for someone who didn't even exist.

She gasped for breath, almost drowning in the horror of her own situation and that aching sense of loss where her family used to be - her father, her mother, her sister. They were all gone and all she had left was a group of people she wasn't even related to, who wish _she_ had died instead of the Slayer.

Dawn staggered to the window and threw it open, sticking her head out to suck in deep breaths of cool night air. Her breathing calmed and she leaned out further, feeling the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck rise as she shivered.

She was about to turn back into her room and crawl into bed again when she saw him.

At first, she thought it was Spike, the figure was standing under the same tree Spike spent so long under, but it didn't take Dawn long to realise she was wrong.

The broad shoulders, heavy muscular build, shoulders hunched with the weight of the world. No, it wasn't Spike.

It was Angel.

She stared at him for a long moment, remembering those fearful few months when he became Angelus and she would see him outside, watching her sister's window.

He had looked at her once, she had been watching him from her window when suddenly, his head had turned sharply and he pinned her with his gaze. She knew then that he was evil, because when he met her eyes, the cold look terrified her and took her breath away as it pushed her away from her window.

There was no such look on his face now; neither was he looking at her sister's room. Instead, he was looking at her, at Dawn. His expression was soft, pitying and sad.

It made Dawn seethe.

Suddenly, with astonishing clarity, Dawn knew it was _all his fault_. Dawn realised that he could have helped if he'd been there. He could have saved her sister.

Angel saw the look on her face. It was the look he had been dreading. After Spike suggested he go see Dawn, Angel couldn't get it out of his head. But he couldn't face accusation in those blue eyes, so he chose to watch her window, train his senses on finding out if she was sleeping peacefully. When she came to the window, he thought she wouldn't see him and when she did, he was relieved that her expression was blank.

But after a moment, her face became livid with anger, accusation and aching loss. It pinned Angel in his place, pressed him back into the tree and kept him there, under the full force of a fourteen-year-old girl who was completely alone.

Then she was gone and he remained in place, gripping the tree and staring at the ground as he tried to regain his composure.

He must have stood there for a long time because he heard the front door open and then heard the pattering of bare feet.

He looked up and Dawn stood there, looking impossibly young and vulnerable with her long brown hair loose over her shoulders, dressed in faded pyjamas. She watched him for a moment, then walked forward and stood on the porch step.

He came toward her and she extended her hand, pressing something tiny into his palm. She cupped her hand around his, leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then gave him a tiny sad smile as she went back into the house.

Angel stepped away from the porch and craned his neck back and stood listening until he was sure Dawn was in bed. Only then did he open his hand and look at what she had given him.

Buffy's claddagh ring sparkled in the moonlight.


	2. You Die For Love

_**Aftermath  
><strong>_**Chapter Two: You Die For Love**

Author's Note: This occurs around the same time as the first chapter. Also, this is the chapter with the liberal use of the "f" word.

* * *

><p>Spike didn't know how long he had been standing at that grave, he had pulled himself up and dragged himself to her graveside as soon as the sun set. He had wanted to bring a drink with him, but it seemed wrong somehow, disrespectful. Which was funny, considering how little respect he had paid her when she was alive. Well, before he fell in love with her and if he was honest, he had started to respect her after that whole Adam thing.<p>

He was in pain. Not just the emotional kind. You fall about fifteen stories just a few weeks after you've been tortured and you do some serious damage. But he didn't sit down. He didn't want to give into the pain because if he had saved Dawn like he _promised_ her he would, he wouldn't have a broken leg, ribs and arm and _she_ wouldn't be rotting away four fucking feet beneath him.

Giles and Xander could only dig four feet, after that, they were too exhausted by the exertion and grief to carry on. If they'd given him half a chance, he would have finished it. Done the job properly, buried her deep and away from the noise from the world. He couldn't see how she could rest with all the noise above her.

He didn't move when he heard the world weary clump of boots behind him.

He was perfectly aware he had no right to be here, all too bloody aware that he was here because he _failed._ But it was here or the crypt and dreams of saving her. Dreams that broke his heart a little more each time when he woke up to find they weren't real.

He didn't know how long he planned on standing there; he just had a vague idea that he wouldn't leave until he was forced to by the sun. But even then, he wondered if he would allow himself to be chased away, though a tiny voice hissed that he had that would mean failing the Bit for the second time.

He had promised.

But a fat lot of good promises were to the Niblet now.

"You shouldn't be here."

He had been expecting it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"I've got as much right as you have," he answered in a voice low and careful, not wanting to fight here when all he could offer her now was goddamned respect. "I never left her. I fucked up. But I never left."

Angel opened his mouth to retaliate before registering the tone of Spike's voice. Though the words were harsh, the tone was polite, almost pleading for Angel not to fight. At least, not here.

"I missed the funeral," Angel stated.

"I expect you had your reasons," Spike answered.

Angel stepped forward, by Spike's side.

"We'd just got back from a hell dimension," Angel said. "I had to talk to Fred and… Well, convince Cordy and Wes not to come."

"Why?" Spike asked, his voice taking on the slight life of curiosity.

"I wanted to see her alone first," Angel lowered his head, feeling the burn of tears.

See her alone.

What a laugh.

She was in the ground, in a box. All he could see was a mound of earth and the memory of a face that he wasn't entirely sure was the face of the woman who had died. God knows he hadn't seen her in so long, he barely recognised her when he comforted her after her mother's death. She had changed since she came to LA after Faith and she might have changed even more before she...

He felt a vague stirring at the back of his mind, as it flicked briefly onto autopilot and filed away a memo to see Faith and tell her before he went away.

"Didn't work," he went on. "They came anyway, with Willow. That's why I had to come now. I couldn't… Was the…" he tailed off, knowing Spike could hear the tears in his voice. "Was the funeral… nice?"

Nice. Of all the words. Two centuries worth of words and all he could come up with was _nice_. Could funerals even _be_ nice? Beautiful, miserable, moving. They were all words he had heard to describe funerals.

Never _nice_.

"I wouldn't know," Spike answered. "I never went."

"Why not?"

"S'not my place," Spike shrugged. "Couldn't save her when she was alive, no bloody good saying sorry to a corpse."

Angel flinched at Spike's harsh language, but had known the boy long enough to realise it was grief. Spike didn't get sad, he got angry. But Angel had never seen Spike like this.

He thought he must look the same, trembling with suppressed rage and misery.

"How's Dawn?" Angel asked.

He realised he was the one attempting to make all the conversation, but if he didn't, if he stood in silence, he thought he might cry. Just break down, tear himself into tiny pieces as he remembered the last time he had seen her, the time before that when he gave it all up so that… Oh, God.

It was pointless, all of it.

She died anyway.

Like he always knew she would.

"How do you think?" Spike retorted, "Crying. Shaking. Barely eating. Terrified. Why don't you go _see_ her, I'm sure she'd welcome you."

"I might," Angel answered, though he knew he wouldn't. He remembered Dawn, remembered those huge blue eyes. However selfish it was, but he couldn't bear to see accusation in those eyes. "It's not fair," he whispered hoarsely. "It's not fucking fair."

"Hear, hear," Spike answered. "Though I thought you might have caught onto that a little while back. It's never fair, Angel. You should have learnt that when you had to leave her. Life, destiny, fate, call it what you bloody well like, it's never fair."

"You loved her," Angel stated.

Willow told him before she drove back to Sunnydale with Wes and Cordelia as he promised to come the next day. He couldn't have spent hours alone with Willow even if he'd wanted to. The weight of his own grief was more than he could handle, let alone someone else's. He didn't want to sit in silence with her and worst of all, he didn't want to talk about Buffy. About all those good times. It was all too forced because he could count the good times on both his hands, but he'd need his toes and five extra feet to count up all the bad times and all the pain.

"That I did," Spike admitted. "And don't have a go at me for it. It was unrequited. So it doesn't count."

"Y'know," Angel said meditatively. "People think love is the best thing in the world. All hearts and flowers and all round goodness. They don't get the pain. The way it hurts even when it's good. They don't get how it condemns you."

Spike shot him a quizzical look.

"Condemns?" he repeated.

"If I didn't love her like I do," Angel explained. "It wouldn't hurt like this."

Spike tossed his head, sneering.

"Always got to be about you, ain't it? You can't think about anything beyond the fact that _you_ loved her. Well, I've got news for you. Soldier boy - as much as I hated him - loved her. Willow, Xander, Giles, all her friends love her. Dawn loved her. And you can't spare them one thought, can you? Not one. It's all about how _you_ feel."

"Are you telling me that you're not wallowing in self-pity? You're not thinking that it could have worked between you two if this hadn't happened?"

"No," Spike admitted. "But I hate myself more than anything. Hate myself because I couldn't save her, because I can hardly bear to look at Dawn because every time I do I see _her_. So yeah, I'm wallowing, but I'm wallowing because I hurt and because it's my fault everyone else does."

"You hate them, Spike. Don't act like you care."

"You don't know anything. I still love her. I love Dawn. I care about what happens to Willow, Tara and Anya. I actually respect Giles. Yeah, I hate Xander, but it's hard to hate him right now when I know that he's hurting for the same reason I am. I stopped really hating them a long time ago because _she_ cared about them. I've changed, Angel. She saw that, that's why I can't go back."

Angel slipped back into silence, staring down. He realised his hands were clenched and he lifted his fist, forced his hand to open and stared unfeelingly at the gash his nails had driven into his palm.

He had heard that feeling pain was better than feeling nothing.

But he couldn't feel anything.

Not the sting of his hand or the ache in his tightly clenched jaw. All he could feel was the emptiness where the knowledge that she was fine once was.

He wished Spike would do something so he would have a reason to punch him. Maybe if he fought, got injured bad enough, the numbness might go away.

"Did you cry when she told you?"

Angel glanced up at the stony face of Spike, looking like a relic from a long ago era, old and worn down. Which Angel could empathise with.

"No," Angel shook his head.

"Me neither. When she died, it felt like crying, but the tears didn't come. Maybe vampires aren't meant to mourn."

"Or maybe vampires aren't supposed to mourn the death of their sworn enemy."

"Bullshit," Spike muttered. "It's all bullshit. Y'know, I promised Dru I'd dance with her on the Slayer's grave," he gave a forced, ironic chuckle. "I couldn't even if I wanted to. Because of my bleedin' leg, got it broke trying to save her. Now I can't dance."

Angel didn't answer and Spike sighed morosely.

"What was it like?" Spike asked after a moment's silence. "To be with her, to know that whatever happened, however many years passed and you never saw her, what was it like to know she'd always love you?"

Angel was at a loss. He opened his fists and shrugged.

"I couldn't tell you. I just… I don't know."

"She still did, y'know," Spike told him. "I always knew that. And I bet she was thinking about you when she threw herself off that tower. About how much she fucking loved _you_."

There was hatred in that voice and Angel almost sighed in relief, that was something he could deal with.

"Shut up, Spike. You haven't got a clue."

"I know. And I never would have. It's a bloody tragedy," he faced his Grand-Sire and Angel merely turned his head toward him. "But shall I tell you the worst part? The _real_ fucking tragedy? I can't walk away from this. Can't leave, can't drink myself into comfy oblivion."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Angel asked, sick of this stupid game, sick of pretending he and Spike could be civil this time of all times.

"I made a promise," Spike spat out bitterly. "Protect Dawn 'til the end of the world. See, it never occurred to me that _she_ would die. I thought out of the two of us, it'd be me. But now I'm here and she's not and I've got to take care of the Bit. And that means I've got to keep an eye on the others, 'cause I know she'd want that. So that's what I've got to do, 'cause I don't think the end of my world counts, does it? What about your world? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Angel shrugged. "I might not last the summer. At least that's what I always thought, lose her, why go on? But I've got to. She'd kill me if I gave up."

"Ah, yes. That she would, Peaches. That she would. But that doesn't mean it's going to be easy."

"I know. And that's what scares me. I know it won't be easy. Every day I'll get up and I'll know how hard the day is going to be. But I just have to keep on going. That's the real tragedy, Spike, that we'll go on. Two vampires and she was worth more than both of us put together and yet we're the ones that… go on."

"Fate's a cruel bitch," Spike agreed. "What do you say to tracking her down and stringing her up?"

"I don't think I could," Angel lifted his hand, studying it. "It's hard enough knowing I'll have to go back to LA at some point and fight the good fight."

"Huh," Spike snorted. "Good fight, my arse. It's all bollocks. People fight and they die, they don't change anything. So they stop one apocalypse, doesn't mean there won't be another. I don't know why people even bother, 'cause it's all got to end one day."

Too bloody right. One day, someone'll fail and there won't be any warrior beauty to swan dive off a platform. One day, someone'll fuck up and that will be the end.

Spike couldn't help but hope that day came soon.

"They do it because they believe," Angel told him. "She believed. She didn't like her destiny, but it was part of her, she knew that. She believed in what she was doing. She made me believe."

Angel relapsed into silence. God, she had made him believe. Made him believe in more than the fight. She made him believe he was a man, a good man. A man someone like her could love.

Above all else, she made him believe in love. He wished she could make him believe now, because right now, it all seemed so fucking pointless. He wished he could be like Spike. He wished he could rage at the world and destiny, admit bluntly that her death had been pointless, because the world would end someday anyway.

But he wasn't allowed that luxury. He couldn't fall apart piece by piece. Because he had a fight to carry on. And he had people that would stubbornly put him back together as he fell apart, put him together and hold him together until he could do things on his own again.

After a moment of hating the fact that he couldn't quietly fade away, he suddenly realised he pitied Spike. Because although he had lost the one thing he loved more than anything in the world, the one person that was everything to him, he still had his make-shift family. He could fight the fight in her name by letting his friends help him through the pain.

Spike didn't have that. He couldn't give in because of a promise, a promise, Angel knew, that was the one thing stopping Spike falling apart. He had no one to help him, but he'd have to get through, just like Angel.

Angel wondered which one that meant was stronger.

The dawn flickered beyond the trees and Angel remembered a time when he had given up, willingly surrendering to sunrise, but she dragged him upright and made him fight again. It wasn't the snow that made him realise he had a purpose, that wasn't his sign that he needed to fight again, it was her. It was always her.

But oh, God, he wanted to give up now.

_Don't let me_, he silently pleaded, his request directed at the cold earth the woman he loved lay beneath. _Come back and make me fight. Like that Christmas. Please. God, this can't be the end. Not of you. You weren't supposed to die like this. You had fire, that can't be gone. How can that be gone?_

He knew corpses, knew how empty, cold and pale they were. He couldn't understand how _she_ could be one. Not his girl, so gutsy, fiery and spirited. Not his girl, the girl whose skin tasted like sunrise and beaches and fields, all bathed in sunlight. His girl would never see the sun ever again. He couldn't understand how that was possible.

Which he supposed was funny. For a hundred years he had offered ugly death to everyone he met, that's what he had told her, you'd think someone like that would understand death.

He didn't know, he couldn't be sure of anything. Maybe Wesley and his books could offer the answer, or Cordelia and her direct line to the Powers That Be.

Clutching at straws, dying wisps of golden hair. That was all he was doing. Looking for a rhyme, a reason for her death. Destiny wasn't enough. Everyone fucking dies, but he wanted to know why _her_ and why _now_.

Screw sacrifice, he wanted to know why the Powers didn't offer an alternative. Something to save her. Bastards. Her life - all their lives - were probably just a sitcom to them and her death would add drama.

Well, fuck that.

And fuck the Powers because he was done with it all.

But even as he thought that, he tasted the sunlight. Memories of skin, soft as a peach, smelling like vanilla, warm and tasting like the forbidden sunlight assaulted his mind. And he knew. Knew he couldn't give up because that would be like giving up on her.

And he never had.

Never could.

Never would.

"We should get inside," Angel said. "We've both got promises to keep."

Spike turned awkwardly on the crutch Angel hadn't noticed he had. His hand, shaking slightly lifted and Angel took it, gave it a squeeze.

"Don't let her down, Spike," he warned.

"I won't," Spike answered. "Don't you let her down either."

"I wouldn't."

Spike nodded, pulled his hand away and hobbled back to his crypt. Angel set his jaw again and turned back to his grave, whispering the last "I love you," and the last "goodbye," he would ever say to her.

The last words she would never hear.

He turned in the opposite direction to Spike and went back to his car. Sank into the dark cocoon, felt tears prick as his hand shook, trying to put the key in the ignition. He gave up and slumped forward against the wheel, bathing it in his tears as he struggled to regain the control he knew would now forever be just out of reach.

Spike glanced back toward the dark car as he reached the door of his crypt. He could hear his Grand-Sire crying and slipped inside.

He slid down the door, grabbing together the last shreds of whatever was holding it all in and tossed them to one side. He let go. He let _her_ go. Not forever, not even for very long. Just long enough to pour out the grief that he couldn't hold in forever.

They had both said goodbye, that empty buzzword for letting go. They both let go a little.

But saying goodbye, letting go, it isn't a one-time thing. You don't just say goodbye, let go enough to register her absence and then everything's fine. You do it all the time.

Every.

Single.

Fucking.

Day.

They both knew that, so they had just said the goodbye that counted, the one that enabled them to cry.

And they hadn't even mentioned her name once.


	3. On The Inside Looking Out

_**Aftermath  
><strong>_**Chapter Three: On The Inside Looking Out**

Author's Note: I know in the "Angel" season 4 episode (_Salvage_, I think) when Wes visits Faith, she says, "Never thought I'd live long enough to see you paying me a visit." So let's pretend that she forgot to add "again."

* * *

><p>For a Slayer, it was a pretty stupid nightmare. But it was a nightmare nonetheless. Didn't have any demons. Nothing scary. But it always made her wake up trembling, sweating, gasping for breath.<p>

The worst part was waking up and finding out the dream lived in waking hours.

Faith had only been mildly surprised to hear she had a visitor. Angel wasn't exactly big with the regular dropping in to say hi thing. But he was the only person who ever visited her, so she wasn't surprised when she saw him waiting for her.

She had known something bad had happened the second she set eyes on him. Away went the euphoria of seeing him and in came the dread. He was slumped forward, not looking for her like he usually did. Her confirmation that something bad had happened had been when he looked up. There had been no reassuring "How you doing?" smile. His eyes looked sore, like he had been crying. She knew then that someone had died, she couldn't think of anything else that would make him cry. She thought it would be Cordelia or Wesley.

Boy, had she been wrong.

He didn't stay. She told herself that the only reason she could remember every word of the conversation was because it barely made the five minute mark. And remember it she did. Every goddamn word.

_"_What's happened?" she had demanded, grabbing the phone as she sat down. She didn't think that he couldn't hear her because he hadn't picked up his phone.

Slowly, he reached out and picked up the phone, leaning heavily into it.

"Hey, Faith," it was a flat voice. Dead. Like him. Only really this time. For the first time, Faith saw nothing but a reanimated corpse.

"Don't give me that bullshit," she snapped. "What's happened? Who's -"

He met her eyes then. There was only one person in the world that could cause him that much pain and Faith had to conciously tell herself to ease up on the phone before she snapped it clean in two.

"No," she whispered.

"She died three days ago," he told her. "The funeral was the day before yesterday. I didn't go. I visited… her afterward. I, uh, I'm going away for a while. But I thought… I thought you should know."

She wanted to leave, pretend this never happened. She was happier not knowing.

"How?" she asked, though God knew she didn't want the details.

"She sacrificed herself to save Dawn," he paused, frowned a little. "And the world."

The world had been an afterthought. To him, what was the world without Buffy? And Faith remembered Squirt, remembered that for all Buffy's moaning about her, she loved Dawn. Faith had an idea that Buffy didn't die for the world. She died for her sister. For her friends. People like Faith just got lucky that Buffy's sacrifice meant they lived too.

They were silent for a moment, before Angel went on.

"I'm going to a monastery in Sri Lanka. Wes said I could find some peace there. I won't see you for a while. I thought I should let you know about… And, uh, to say goodbye."

"Right. Thanks."

He stood then, staring as she rose slowly too, putting the phone away. He watched her, glanced down at the phone clenched in his own fist and put it to one side. She mouthed "I'm sorry," through the glass and looking back, she thought there was a flash of hate in those normally compassionate brown eyes.

"And why not, huh, B?" she muttered into the darkness, having been woken by the dream again. "The Chosen Two. Ha. The good one dies and the bad one lives. Not like in storybooks, is it? The PTB sure do have a sense of humour."

She turned over and tried to go back to sleep. As she dozed off, she almost heard Buffy snort.

_"Sense of humour?__ How is this funny?"_

* * *

><p>They said she had a visitor. She didn't think it was Angel, he was in Sri Lanka.<p>

Her visitor was waiting for her, head slumped in his hands, hair ruffled. He looked up as she sat down and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Faith," he said.

"What are you doing here, Wesley?" she asked. She was tired; too many nights reliving Angel telling her Buffy was gone would make anyone tired.

"Angel asked Cordelia to come and see you," Wes explained. "She didn't want to. So here I am. He said to make sure you're ok."

"Why wouldn't I be?" she retorted, lifting her chin, hoping he didn't notice the dark circles under her eyes.

"Buffy died," he answered. His voice was tight and he looked away, staring at the other visitors and convicts.

Gone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had always thought that sometime in the future, he would in some way prove himself to Buffy. He respected her, the way she came to LA after Faith and he was quite aware that Buffy leaving the Council was his fault.

But some tiny part of him had wanted to prove himself to her. Just like that same tiny part of him wanted to prove himself to everyone who had ever doubted him. The gang in Sunnydale, the Council, his father…

"Yeah, I know," she went to great lengths to sound unconcerned and he looked back at her, raising his eyebrows.

"You don't look like you sound," he commented.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You sound like you don't care. You look like you do."

She shrugged, twirling patterns with fingernail across the table in front of her.

"Angel still in Sri Lanka?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Huh. He shoulda gone to Las Vegas to get hammered."

To her surprise, Wes chuckled.

"Gunn said the same thing. And who knows, he may yet. I doubt a little quiet time will help much."

"I would've thought you'd be the one that was all for the quiet time in a monastery."

"He wanted to get away. I offered a suggestion. It might work. But I doubt it. He's got to learn to live with what's happened. This will just make it harder when he gets back, he might not know how to cope going about his daily life."

"So why didn't you tell him that?"

"Faith, this is Angel. He wouldn't listen to me. He won't listen to anyone about this. This is one thing he doesn't think is anyone else's problem but his own."

"That's bullshit."

"My sentiments exactly."

She looked up with a slight smile.

"Did you go to the funeral?" she asked.

"Yes. It was beautiful, though I doubt that's a consolation. Just before sunset, early evening. The sunset was beautiful that night."

It had been. The Powers own tribute to the dead heroine four feet beneath them. Wes couldn't help wondering about the sudden display of affection, gratitude, whatever this sunset was supposed to symbolise. They could have helped her when she was alive instead of celebrating her life once she was dead.

"What about Angel?" she asked. "He couldn't go before sunset."

"No. He didn't want to anyway. He said he wanted to see her alone. He tried to convince Cordy and I not to go. But we went anyway, we left Sunnydale as soon as the funeral was over; we didn't want to intrude. I saw his car as we left. I think he and Spike mourned her together."

He bowed his head again. Angel hadn't said a word to him about Buffy.

"Take care of them, Wesley," was all he had said, as he took Wes's hand and shook it. "Make sure they're ok, boss."

And that was it.

"He didn't look too good," Faith mused.

"No," Wes agreed. "Probably because he's not. But he'll get through this."

"But this is _Buffy_…" Faith tailed off as Wes met her eyes.

Startled, she kept quiet. She saw horror in those eyes and realised that Wes was forcing himself to believe in Angel.

Wes lowered his gaze. It was true. Yes, he was the boss. He was good with the strategies and bookwork and fighting, but the team needed Angel behind it. It lost its momentum without him. The thought that the one thing that would crush Angel had happened, terrified Wesley.

Because he didn't know how he would pull everyone together if they lost Angel again.

He jumped a little, as his jacket pocket buzzed. He pulled out his pager. _911._ Damn.

"Faith…"

"It's ok. Go fight the fight. Make sure Angel's got a business to come back to."

He nodded and stood up, replacing the phone. She stood up also, holding up her hand in farewell. He raised his own, smiled hesitantly and left as Faith was led away.

* * *

><p>Faith was called to the visiting room again. She didn't mind. It had taken her an hour after Wes had left to realise that she had not apologised for what she did to him and he had not mentioned it. She wanted to say sorry today.<p>

But it wasn't Wesley sitting on the other side of the glass. It was Queen C, sitting with her chin in her hand and a bored expression. She lurched away from the glass as Faith sat down, as though scared the Slayer could get her if she got too close.

She picked up the phone and waited for Faith to do the same.

"I don't want to be here," she stated immediately.

"That's two of us," Faith answered.

"Wesley was going to come again," Cordy went on, ignoring her comment. "But he's at the hospital."

"Is he ok?" Faith asked.

Cordelia shot her a _like you care_ look, but shrugged.

"He's fine," she answered. "A big and slimy whacked him on the head and Gunn thought he might have concussion."

"Oh," Faith picked at her fingernails for a moment. "So… Angel's not back?"

"No," Cordelia answered quietly. "And we haven't heard from him. But he asked me to check on you and I figured… Well, I figured there was no point. You didn't care about Buffy."

"And you did?" Faith snapped.

"Yeah," Cordy retorted. "She was a friend. I never tried to kill her boyfriend or went over to the bad side. Look, can we not do this? I'm tired."

And she looked it. She had spent the last two weeks since Buffy's death mourning and working. The visions were really taking their toll and the fighting seemed immaterial now. She tried to take some of the pressure off Wesley by taking it upon herself to look out for Fred. But she had given up on that days ago.

She was surprised by how hard Buffy's death had hit her. Buffy had been her friend once and sure, they had their moments. Times when Cordy hated her with a fiery passion. But whatever she felt for Buffy, a part of her still kinda liked her.

The fact that she died to save her sister came as no great surprise to Cordy. It was the fact she _died_ that shocked her. Grabbed hold of her world and turned it upside down, but not before giving it a damn good shake.

"It came outta nowhere for you too?" Faith asked.

"Yeah…" Cordy sighed. "I just never thought… I mean, I know she was a Slayer, but she was…"

"Buffy," Faith supplied. "I know what you mean. I know what I did, Cordelia, and I'm not proud of it. I always wanted to make it up to her one day. Y'know, prove I could be a good guy? Guess I'll never get the chance…. Were the guys ok?"

Cordy shrugged.

"We didn't stay too long. Angel tried convincing us not to go, but we went back with Willow anyway. We paid our respects, walked back to the house and drove home. We passed Angel as we left. He knows we went, but he pretended not to. How were the guys?" Cordy repeated thoughtfully, frowning.

She didn't know. In all honesty, she couldn't describe it.

"Heartbroken," she whispered finally. "Every single one of them was heartbroken. Which isn't a surprise, seeing as Buffy was their heart. Oh, God."

She squeezed her eyes shut, not going to cry in front of Faith. She searched for her sharp, insensitive side and found it, grabbed it tightly. That was her salvation, that was what stood between her and tears. She had no right. She and Buffy hadn't spoken since she left Sunnydale. But yet, Cordy felt her loss like a kick in the gut.

"Sorry," Faith whispered.

"Not going to bring her back," Cordy answered. "I'm gonna go, I want to make sure Wes is ok."

"Yeah, right. Thanks for coming."

"Yeah. So, you're ok?"

"As good as you," Faith answered, eyeing Cordelia pointedly.

"It'll get better," Cordy told her, putting the phone down, standing and walking away.

"Christ, I hope so," Faith muttered.

* * *

><p>Faith didn't see anyone after that for three months. She got a scrawled letter from Angel, letting her know he was back from his trip, that he was coping and that he'd see her soon, but he was busy getting back into the swing of things.<p>

She was glad, really. She was happy that things were ok with him, that he hadn't hid away from things so long that he wouldn't be able to cope when he got back like Wes had predicted.

She didn't get a chance to hide. Buffy's death was there every minute of every day. Because she was stuck in prison, a constant reminder of her mistakes. Which meant it was also a reminder of the woman she felt she had wronged the most.

The woman she would never be able to make it up to.

She had loved Buffy. They were the _Chosen__ Two._ Sister Slayers. Friends. In a way, family. It hurt that Buffy was gone. Hurt that if Faith hadn't fucked up, she might have been able to help her. Might have been able to do something, kill whatever big bad was after Dawn.

She still didn't know the full story, but she didn't want to. Buffy had died to save Dawn. That was all she needed to know. That was all she thought she needed to know, until three months after Buffy died, Faith received a visitor.

"Hi, how was Sri Lanka?" she asked, shifting to get comfortable in the seat.

"Demon monks," Angel answered.

"Huh," Faith nodded, then noticed Angel's wide grin. Something was definitely wrong with this picture. "What's happened?"

"She's back," he said.

"What?"

"Buffy. She's back. I just got off the phone with her. I'm on the way to see her now. I wanted you to know. Wes said he thought you were taking it hard."

"Yeah, well," she answered, feeling as though she might float away as the grief evaporated, leaving her tingling and light headed with relief.

"I never thought…" he said, beaming, "I thought she was gone forever. I thought I'd never see her again."

"How?" Faith asked, bemused. "The Powers? What? How is she alive?"

"Willow brought her back," Angel explained hastily. "God, I can't wait to see her."

"Then what are you doing here?" Faith smiled.

"I wanted to tell someone the good news," he grinned.

"Well, now I know. So get going, big guy. The lady awaits."

He started to get up, when she suddenly pressed a hand into the glass, with such speed that a guard touched her shoulder in caution. She leaned back in the chair as Angel lifted the phone again.

"What is it, Faith?"

"Tell her… Tell her I said hi," Faith chuckled and shook her head. "No, that's lame. Tell her… I'm glad. That she's back. It's a good thing."

Angel smiled. He understood what she was saying.

"I'll tell her that. Let her know how you're doing. I think she'd like to know you're getting along ok."

"Yeah," Faith nodded slowly, not believing him one little bit. "So… what are you still doing here?"

He shrugged, grinned and replaced the phone, turning even as he did it and striding out in the time it took her to blink.

But Faith took her time, her entire body heavy as she stood and shuffled back to her cell.

"So, you're back, huh, B?" Faith muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Why am I not surprised?"

Buffy's face grinned at her in her mind. Head thrown back in laughter. She always had the last laugh, she always won. She even beat Death. Faith had to admire the girl, always fought back, never backed down.

Always came back.

_"The comeback Queen, Faith, that's me!"_

And Faith chuckled as she rolled over, smiling as she fell asleep and slept the whole way through for the first time in a long while.


	4. Who Wants To Live Forever

**_Aftermath_**  
><strong>Chapter Four: Who Wants To Live Forever? <strong>

* * *

><p>They had been silent for ages, just sitting on the grass, staring up at the stars. Their fingers were still entwined.<p>

When Buffy first saw him, he had stepped towards her slowly. His face had been illuminated by the dull orange spilling from the bikers' diner. He had stared at her like she was some kind of beautiful dream, with a hesitant smile on his face, like he wanted to break into a huge grin, but wanted to wait until he was sure. He had approached her slowly and Buffy watched him, not sure how she felt.

Until he had reached out and closed his hands around her shoulders.

With a sob of relief, she had thrown herself into his arms, clutching desperately at his shirt, throwing her arms around his neck. She had pressed herself close, forgetting for a moment the horror of this world as she savoured the feel of him.

It had felt so good to see him again, knowing she had never said goodbye, never said all the things she needed to. Not that it mattered now, now she was alive, he wouldn't want to hear the things she wanted to tell him. They would sound too much like goodbye.

Angel had continued to clasp her hand as they walked towards the grassy area in front of the diner. His fingers grazed against her wrist, feeling the pulse thud. He had sucked in a deep breath and felt his eyes prick with tears. All because she was alive. His girl. His beautiful, strong, wonderful, brave girl _was alive._

Buffy glanced at him; saw that his eyes were still fixed on the sky above them. She shifted her fingers to feel the cool grass beneath their hands and he glanced sideways at her.

Her silence felt like she was lying to him, like she was pretending she was happy. She wanted to tell him, wanted to explain that everything in this world was harder, duller in colour, more violent and full of insistent, unnecessary _noise_. But as he turned to smile at her, she couldn't do it. He looked so happy, a smile constantly hovering at the corners of his mouth, his eyes alive with stunned, joyful disbelief.

She thought telling him might break his heart.

"Angel, can I ask you something?" she asked softly.

"Sure," he answered.

"What's it like? You're immortal, you've been around forever. Always fighting, always having to get up every day and live through it. What's it like to know it's never gonna end? That you're never gonna get to lie down, close your eyes and rest? You're never gonna get any peace. What's that like?"

"That's kinda bleak," he commented, attempting humour. But her solemn expression made him clear his throat and start again. "I don't know. I've never thought about it. Sometimes I get sick of getting up everyday, knowing that it's gonna be the same as the previous day. But then I don't mind, because I've got friends, I've got a purpose. Life's not so bad, Buffy. The stuff that sickens you, reminds you that you're alive, so make the most of it," Angel shot her a quizzical look. "Why?"

Buffy laughed, trying to sound like the girl he remembered, but finding that the laughter echoed inside her, shaking her ribs.

"I guess I feel like I'm gonna live forever," she replied. "Every time I die I wake up again. You think I'm ever gonna die and find peace?"

"Don't talk like that," Angel said tightly, his smile fading for the first time.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking up again at the sky. There was silence, until she spoke again in a low voice. "You know, when you gave Giles the Codex and Giles found out I was going to die, I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. I was sixteen years old and there was so much I wanted to do. I wanted to be Homecoming Queen. I wanted to bungee jump, I wanted to see the Grand Canyon and put a huge bet on in Las Vegas. I wanted to see the world."

"And now?" he asked. "What's changed, Buffy? You sound like someone who didn't _want_ to come back."

_"I think I was in Heaven. And now I'm not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out… by my friends. Everything here is… hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch… this is Hell."_

The memory of what she had told Spike reeled through her head. She could tell Angel, could tell him everything. If she could tell Spike, she could tell Angel. But he was looking at her, with despair blooming in his eyes and she couldn't. She couldn't do that to him, she couldn't say it _knowing_ it would break his heart.

So she just shook her head.

"I am glad," she lied. "But I just can't help wondering when it's gonna end, y'know?"

He nodded, but didn't answer.

It was strange really, he supposed, that now, now when they could never go back, never be together ever again, _now_ would be the time they understood each other completely.

_We're both dead, _he thought. But he shook it away, shivering. It was a chilling thought, one that should have had no place in his mind when he was sitting with the woman he loved. The woman who was back after three months in the ground.

"It's nice out here," Buffy commented after a moment.

"Yeah," he answered. "Uh, Faith said hi. No, wait, she said that was lame. She said she was glad that you're back, she said it's a good thing."

"How's she doing?"

"Ok. As well as you can when you're in prison. Why don't you go see her some time?"

Any other time and Buffy would have laughed, said that she wasn't going to see Faith until Faith had done her time and paid for her crimes. But, for some reason, Buffy found herself nodding.

"Will you take me?" she asked.

"What? Now?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

Angel shrugged and stood up slowly, pulling his hand out of hers as he did so. He reached out for her and she slid her fragile hand into his and she allowed him to help her to her feet. He led her back to the car and opened the door for her.

He started to walk away, to go to the driver's door, when Buffy's fingers tightened sharply in his hand. He looked back at her with a frown. She reached out for him, cupping his face in her hand, tiptoeing slightly to kiss him.

He pulled her close and deepened the kiss until Buffy had to pull away to gasp for air. He tucked her hair behind her ears and watched the spark fade from her eyes.

And he mourned her all over again.

* * *

><p>They pulled up in front of the prison early the following morning and they said their goodbyes in the car.<p>

"I'm sorry," Buffy whispered, folding her arms around her waist. "For being so quiet. I'm sorry I wasn't more… upbeat."

"It's ok…"

"No, it's not. You deserved something more."

"Like what?" he asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Like… I don't know," she sighed and closed her eyes, looking more tired than he had ever seen her. She reached across to take his hand. "Thank you for being there."

_Thank you for making just one night that much easier to bear._

"I enjoyed it," he answered.

_I loved being with you again. Sitting there, just holding your hand._

"It was good to see you," she said.

_Good to see someone who had no idea what was going on. Good to see someone who didn't drag me back here._

"You too," he answered. "I… I really missed you, Buffy. I missed you so much."

_So much I thought I might die. I didn't know how to fight for a world that didn't have you in it._

"I love you, Angel," she said gently, squeezing his hand. "Always have, always will."

"I love you too," he answered. "And I'm sorry. For not being there, for not being able to save you."

"It's all right, it doesn't matter," she gulped. "Not now."

"No," he agreed, nodding.

There was a silence, with both of them staring out of the windscreen, fingers only gently touching.

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?" she asked after a moment.

"Goodbye?" he repeated. "Don't you want a lift back to Sunnydale?"

"I can get the bus," she said.

He nodded again, feeling something like relief surge through him as he leaned across and kissed her gently. She pressed her forehead against his for a moment, before she pulled away, grabbed her purse and opened the door of the car. He shifted out of the way of the shaft of sunlight.

"Buffy," he said as she started to close the door.

She leaned back in, pulling the door closed slightly to block the sunlight as she watched him fumble for something in his pocket.

"Here," he said, placing something in her hand. "Dawn gave it to me after... But it's yours."

She blinked at her claddagh ring and closed her fingers tightly around it.

"Thank you," she whispered.

And Angel watched as she closed the door and walked away.

* * *

><p>Faith had never felt so popular. Angel had visited the previous day and now she had another visitor. She knew her visitor was Angel because, with the exceptions of Wes and Cordelia's one grudging visit each, Angel was the only visitor she ever had.<p>

So it was a shock to see a tiny blonde woman sitting on the other side of the glass. But Faith hid her surprise and slid into her seat with an impassive expression.

The sound of Faith reaching for the phone made Buffy look up and take hold of her phone.

"B," Faith greeted warily. "Angel coulda passed on a message if you had something pressing to say."

"Hi, Faith," Buffy replied weakly, ignoring Faith's greeting. "How are you?"

"I'm surviving," Faith answered with a shrug, eyeing Buffy with a raised eyebrow. "Bit like you."

"What?" Buffy asked sharply, looking at Faith directly for the first time.

Faith shrugged and settled back in her seat. Her slouch was casual; she hoped it softened the awe that crept into her voice as she answered.

"You survived, B. You clawed your way back again. Only you coulda done that."

"It was Willow," Buffy answered shortly. "She did it. I didn't have to do anything."

"So, uh, why she'd do it? Why'd she decide to bring you back?" Faith asked, leaning forward again and peering curiously at Buffy. "I know Cordelia said they really weren't doing well, but… seems kinda selfish."

"And you'd know all about that," Buffy snapped back. Faith recoiled slightly and Buffy felt guilty. Like Angel, this wasn't Faith's fault. She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Faith. Willow brought me back because they thought I was in Hell."

"Were they right?"

Buffy was startled by the direct question. She had forgotten how fearless Faith was in an awkward situation. She toyed with the idea of being completely honest here, telling Faith just how wrong her friends had been.

But she didn't.

She hadn't told Angel and she wasn't going to tell Faith, just like she wasn't going to tell her friends.

Spike didn't count. Telling Spike was a fluke, she had needed to get it off her chest, but that was the end of it.

"Yes," she said, not even caring anymore how easily the lies came now. "They were right."

"Oh."

Faith was silent. That would explain that look on Buffy's face. The pinched, pale look on her face, the dark circles under her wide, haunted, _I've-faced-death-head-on_ eyes.

"But you're ok, right, B?" Faith asked, struggling for confirmation.

Buffy had always been in the one constant thing in Faith's life.

Faith's Watchers died and fucked up as monumentally as both her parents combined.

Buffy's friends had only ever been distant influences, even Xander, who was distant even when Faith had her thighs clamped around him.

Angel's input in her life was erratic at best, jumping from barely noticing her, to wanting to help, to playing her, to hating her, to fighting her, to being the only person that cared enough to try. And even now, Faith couldn't count on a weekly visit.

But, Buffy…

Buffy was the one thing in Faith's life that never changed. When Faith first met her, Buffy was a stubborn, prim yet passionate, fiery warrior. Right from the very beginning, Buffy had been the lighter side to Faith's dark. And that's how Buffy remained.

When Faith joined the other side, Buffy remained strong, stubborn and focused on the fight, on saving people.

When Faith was in a coma, when Faith went to LA, all while Faith was in prison, she knew that somewhere out there, Buffy was as stubborn as ever, as prim, as passionate and as great an example of a Slayer as she had always been.

"Yeah, I'm ok," Buffy answered after a moment and even after all this time, Faith still knew her well enough to be unconvinced.

"Everybody hurts, B."

"Was there a reason for that statement, Faith?" Buffy replied wearily.

"Just, y'know, there's always someone worse off."

"Huh," Buffy snorted and Faith smiled.

This wasn't the Buffy that lived in Faith's dreams. That Buffy laughed and danced in the sun, joyful at her second shot at life. As Faith dozed, Buffy chuckled and joked about her good luck. In Faith's imagination, Buffy was never this flat and defeated and it wasn't until Buffy snorted that Faith saw a glimmer of her old Buffy.

"Have you seen Angel?" Faith asked.

"Yeah. He gave me a lift here."

"What did you guys talk about?"

"Faith," Buffy warned.

Faith laughed and held up a hand in defeat and shook her head.

"Ok. Yeah, I know. I probably wouldn't want to hear it anyway," Faith smiled. Buffy didn't answer and Faith lowered her voice as she continued. "Thanks for coming to see me, Buffy."

"That's ok."

"No, I mean it. I'm sorry, Buffy -"

"Don't. Don't say you're sorry. You know it means nothing. Save your apologies for the day you get out of here. Words don't mean a thing. You'll prove yourself one day. I know you will."

Faith opened her mouth, then snapped it closed and nodded.

"I should go. I've gotta catch the bus back to Sunnydale."

"Yeah."

"See ya, Faith."

"Maybe."

Buffy stood up to leave, reaching out to put the phone away, but Faith gestured to her not to. With a frown, Buffy put it back to her ear.

"B."

"Yeah."

"Who wants to live forever, huh?"

Faith's mouth quirked in a shrewd smile. Buffy didn't answer, just gave Faith a grim smile and put the phone away. She stood and watched as Faith was led away, holding one hand up in farewell.

Buffy placed her hand over the pocket of her jeans, where she had put her ring. It would go back in her jewelry box when she got home. A reminder of something beautiful that had passed. She thought vaguely there was irony in that somehow, given her current situation.

She turned slowly and sighed, shaking her head as she muttered:

"Who wants to live forever?" she pushed through the door, out into the corridor towards the light at the end. She sighed as she squinted into the brightness. "Not me."

* * *

><p><em><strong>The End<strong>._


End file.
